L&O: Christmas Memories
by lupinskitten
Summary: Forced to return home for the holidays, and bringing along her lover Jack McCoy, a nervous Claire Kincaid faces more than an icy lane. A Christmas Story for all the JackClaire shippers out there.
1. Chapter 1

**Christmas Memories**

Normal days in the office passed slowly, but this one seemed to be speeding by at an alarming rate. Claire looked up from her desk and glanced at the clock on the far wall. Only another hour, and it would be time to leave. Most of the staff had cleared out early, knowing no one would fault them for it, and even Adam had announced his intention to go home when the last of his paperwork was finished. Only Jack seemed intent to work until the appropriate hour. He was such a workaholic that she couldn't imagine him leaving early for much less than a nuclear war.

Biting her lip, Claire looked at the clock again. She couldn't concentrate. The anticipation of seeing her family over Christmas always made her feel this way. Her father would be there, with his prestigious degree in the law, a college professor who had been as hard on her as anyone else, maybe harder. He loved her, but their relationship was not as close as she might have wished. Mrs. Kincaid, her mother, a socialite to the nines, who spent most of her time and energy doing charitable work while keeping up a pristine home in the country. This year, the family event was to be held at their winter cabin, in upstate New York. Claire had not been there since she was five years old. The most she remembered of it was a sprawling house surrounded by deep drifts of snow.

Claire had tried to come up with any number of excuses as to why she couldn't attend, but all of them fell flat. Her only alternative was to beg Jack to come with her, to act as a barrier. It was a dangerous move to make, for only a handful of people knew they were involved. But her father had guessed at the last banquet they had attended together that there was something going on, and Jack had agreed, being so mild-mannered that he was comfortable with just about anything outside the office. Pressing her face into her hands, she sighed and listened to the murmur of voices outside the door. More than one of her coworkers stuck their head into her office and wished her a Merry Christmas.

Then things quieted down, and she realized everyone had gone home. Only the guard, McCoy, and Adam Schiff remained. She heard the squeak of Adam's office door, which no one ever seemed to fix, followed by his authoritative step in the hall, and went out to wish him Merry Christmas. Grandfatherly in appearance, with his coat hanging over one arm, Adam Schiff did not look the formidable District Attorney that he was. He was one of the most demanding men she knew, determined to stick it to her so that she would find out if she really was cut out for the job. More than once, she had thought about quitting, but in those hours of doubt, Jack was there to tell her not to let anyone get to her. "You're a damn good attorney, Claire," he said. "Don't allow Adam's hard-nosed idealism run you off."

"You're still here?" Adam asked gruffly when she appeared. He thought she was too sweet to work in the district attorney's office, a place that demanded harshness and compromise. Claire felt too much, but despite all of this, he was fond of her, in his own way. The manner in which she looked at him just then, a hint of a smile on her lips, softened him up a little bit. He should have known his voice would bring Jack from his office, the tall figure leaning against the doorway. Jack always looked so self-confident and assured of himself. It was one of the many reasons juries loved him so much, the other being a resonating voice that his female coworkers defined as "gravely."

Adam beheld them a moment and then continued down the hall, calling out, "Don't you people have homes?" He nodded to the watchman and pressed the button for the elevator. Turning to survey them beneath the brim of his battered fedora, he added, "Don't drink too much eggnog."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Adam," Jack dryly shot back; and received a hint of a smile for his troubles. With a wave of his hand to indicate he was only half serious, their boss vanished into the elevator. Jack shifted his attention to the beautiful woman at his side, and knew at a glance that she about to have a nervous breakdown. There was a look about Claire that accompanied mild panic, though she might not have shown it in her mannerisms. He had once gone hunting with his father, and could only describe it as the look a deer in the crossbow has when it knows it has been spotted.

"Everyone's gone home," he said. "I don't see why we can't leave early."

Something akin to horror came into her enormous brown eyes, and she shook her head. Jack picked up her jacket off the coat tree, and approached her with it. "I can't," she said, "there's the deposition." Claire was not making much progress as he propelled her down the corridor, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor. The hold he had on her elbow was commanding, but also gentle. He was doing this for her own good.

"It can wait until next week."

"What about the Melnik case?"

"Danielle isn't going to call tonight. If I know her, she's doing last-minute shopping at Macy's." Jack halted and gazed into her eyes. His dark hair was starting to gray at the temples, but otherwise he did not look his age. His features were very angular, not attractive so much as mesmerizing for the command he wielded over them. Claire was lost in his eyes, the color of melted chocolate. "Claire, the watchman is waiting until we leave to go home for the night. Do you really want to sit here twiddling your thumbs for another hour, at his expense?"

Looking at the good-natured older man seated so patiently behind his desk, arranging and rearranging the tray of peppermints that he offered to everyone on their way in, Claire conceded. As much as she dreaded the trip upstate, it would be less trouble just to prepare for it. Jack assisted her on with her coat, for the weather outside was quite nippy, and then accompanied her down the elevator and through the front lobby. They could almost hear the relieved sighs as they went through the revolving doors onto the street, for it meant the place could officially lock up.

She had left her car home that morning and taken the subway, but Jack insisted on a taxi. The streets were a mad dash of activity, as last-minute shoppers and sightseers took in all the glorious city of New York had to offer them. It would not be dark for another hour or two, but already colored lights were twinkling from arbor windows and atop the street posts.


	2. Chapter 2

Once she got home, there was not much to do and entirely too soon, their things were stowed in the trunk of the car. "It looks as though it's going to snow," she remarked as Jack tossed her the keys. He knew it was a pitiful excuse not to leave, and shot her a long-suffering glance as he got in.

Traffic was heavy in and out of the city and it took them awhile to navigate onto the highway beyond the city limits. Claire turned on the radio and it was all of five seconds before Jack reached forward and changed the station. Despite her mounting anxiety, Claire pushed the button again and it reverted to the pop station she liked.

"I'm not going to listen to that for the next four hours," Jack complained. It was the same on all their long road trips, mild banter over the radio station before a compromise was reached. Whether he did it out of stubborn bull-headedness or he enjoyed flirtatious disagreement, Claire could never be sure, but she didn't mind quite as much as she let on. "You're as bad as my daughter!"

"What would you rather listen to, Rush Limbaugh?" she shot back, as they took the next exit off the interstate. Jack reached forward and changed the channel again, looking at her in humorous bemusement as he replied, "Of course not, he's on vacation." There was such mischief in his gaze that she could not help smiling, and it broke the tension in the car. Claire began to relax. There was nothing to worry about. Her parents were proud of her, if slightly disapproving that she had not married some Harvard Law professor by now, and their family affairs only rarely turned ugly. Jack was personable and could keep the attention of any gathering without thought, meaning that less of the focus would be on her around the dinner table.

A few listless flakes of snow drifted down from the gray skies. They filtered amidst the trees that grew closely together on either side of the country road. It was so beautiful here, so seemingly remote and distant from the busy life she led. The country was so different from the city, where everything was in a rush. Here, it was all so quiet and laid back, even the trees moving gently with the wind rather than against it. Claire now remembered why she had liked that house. Though she had spent only a few holidays there, she knew it had a sense of awareness to it, as though it had seen many things over the years and was determined to bring calm into the lives of those who crossed its threshold.

Jack watched her as she drove, confident in her movements, the map stowed in the glove box. There was something memorable about Claire; almost magical that came out whenever she was deep in thought. He often found her this way, curled up on the couch with a blanket, stroking her cat and staring into the distance. He knew she was struggling with her job, wondering if it suited her, and he hated the thought of losing her in the office. Claire was the most intrepid and enthusiastic assistant he had ever had, and through his twenty-odd years in the district attorney's office, that was no simple feat.

Sensing that she was being looked at, Claire turned her head just slightly and returned the favor. The flush that he liked so much arose in her cheeks, and she asked, "What?" He gave no response, just the intimate smile she knew so well, and turned his attention out the window. The radio was now playing Christmas songs, and she turned it down. The snow was swirling with more fervor around the car, the flakes becoming bigger with each passing mile. Claire was not accustomed to driving in the snow, but the road was mostly clear. The forecast had predicted it, and that morning when she'd gotten up, she had smelled it on the air.

"What's your favorite memory of Christmas, Jack?" she asked, yearning for conversation. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, tensing as they turned down another country road. This one was not so passable, the snow starting to stick to the ground. It was becoming dark, twilight making it difficult to see through the trees. The lights cast eerie ripples through the coming darkness, reminding her of how alone they were in the wood. It was no more than ten miles now. She remembered this lane, and the broken wooden fence, hidden beneath trailing vines, now dead of summer growth, and drifting snow. It would be a white Christmas after all.

There were many of them, wonderful moments that at the time he believed would envelop him with happiness, but the times after that were not so blissful: marriages that had fallen apart, abuses that were hurtled after him as he ran down into the basement to avoid his father's rage. His profile was outlined against the dusk and falling snow, long lashes lowering in momentary concentration. His voice when it came was very rough, having lost its polished tones in a rare glimpse of emotion outside the courtroom. "I suppose it was the year I graduated from law school. I had been working in New York for several months, and flew back to Chicago. My father, the cantankerous old monster that he was, actually told me that he was proud of me."

Claire looked at him in the dwindling light, the howling of the wind and storm beyond the windshield fading as she contemplated his childhood. Jack was not as fortunate as she was, to have loving, supportive parents. He had spent most of his youth in fear for the man that had taken to angry, drunken rants so violent that his mother had been forced to lock herself in the cellar to evade her husband's rage. She felt slightly ashamed for her attitude, for being so reluctant to see her parents. It had not crossed her mind that Jack would have been glad to have her family. She was glad the darkness was such that he couldn't see the flush in her face.

"What about you, Claire?" He turned the heater vent so it was more focused on him, suddenly aware of the snow blustering outside. It was becoming thick on the ground, and the car was moving more slowly as she tried to navigate.

"I was seven, and my parents bought me a puppy." Claire smiled. "It was an insane thing to do, since that poor dog ate us out of house and home and shredded more than his fair share of slippers, but I remember opening the ribbon on the box and having this bundle of golden fur spill out into my lap. He was all tongue and wiggle, and I adored him. So much so that I snuck down after my parents went to bed, and took him up to my room. I had something to love." Her hand crept across the fabric of the seat and found his, warmly squeezing his fingers. Jack held onto it for a moment before she returned it to the steering wheel, slowing down as they came to a fork in the road.

The snow was so thick she couldn't see the signpost, but she vaguely remembered this place and took the left branch. The wind picked up, battering the side of the car and churning the windshield wipers at a ferocious pace. How it happened, she was not certain; but one moment they were on the road, and the next the car was sliding into the ditch. Claire let out a mangled scream, and Jack reached for the wheel, but it was too late. The impact threw them against their seat belts, plowing into a snow bank. There was sudden silence, the radio having lost reception, and she could hear the thunderous sound of her heartbeat in her ears.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack reached over and felt for her, as if to reassure himself that she was all right. Claire had struck the steering wheel, but it didn't seem a deep cut. The emergency lights had come on and in the glow, he saw the blood coating his fingertips. "Are you all right?" he demanded when she remained silent, stunned by what had happened.

Shaking off her daze, Claire replied that she thought so. There was no use in trying to get out of the ditch, for the wheels only spun when she pressed the gas. The sound was full of hopelessness. She knew where they were; about two miles from the house, but no lights shone out in the night, and her cell phone would not get reception in the hollow. "I don't know what else to do but walk," she confessed, misery in her voice. It was shameful for her to arrive on her parents' doorstep, having crashed the car. Her numerous accidents as a teenager were something of a family joke, but that was not something she had confided to Jack.

"Let's make sure you're all right first," came the response, and Jack opened his car door into the storm. It was bitterly cold and the air stung his face as he stepped out. Claire attempted to get out her door, but it refused to open, pressed against a snow bank. She unhooked her seat belt and crawled through, feeling the warmth of his hands as he pulled her out. Jack could not see well in the faint glow of the lights, but ascertained that while she was slightly unsteady on her feet, most of her injuries were nerves. He helped her into her warmer coat and turned off the engine, extinguishing the light. It was not completely dark, and once her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could see him unloading their bags from the trunk.

His gray hair tousled by the wind, Jack put one strap over his shoulder and lifted the other, until she took it from him. "Which direction?" he asked, and she looked around for a landmark and then pointed. She had played in these woods as a child, and most of the property remained the same. Wearing her sensible shoes, Claire did not have as difficult a time of it as she thought. She did sink down into the snow, and after awhile as they trudged uphill, became winded. Jack reached out and took the bag back, bearing the burden without complaint as he encouraged her to stop and rest. They could no longer see the car, but were surrounded by the wood. It was an eerie feeling, as though they were the only two human beings left on earth.

"Claire, why do you fear going home so much?"

She wished that she could have seen his expression just then, for it was a peculiar question. Opening her mouth slightly, she didn't know how to respond. Jack had put down their bags and was resting against the bark of a near tree, its branches naked except for a faint powdering of snow. "I…" What was there to say, that she felt as though she had failed to live up to her father's expectations? That he wanted her to go into private practice and instead she had chosen one of the most thankless, difficult, tedious jobs in the business? That his daughter was not known in public circles like he'd wanted, or lived in the Hamptons?

"Your dad wanted you to make something of yourself," she said after a significant pause, "to be 'better' than he was. You did it. I didn't."

Jack knew it was the darkness, and the situation, that prompted her to be so honest with him. Even though she shared everything else, she was never completely willing to let him in. Not when it came to her parents. "Which of us had the most courage?" he asked. "I did it because I was scared of my father. I became a district attorney because it's what he wanted of me. I stopped doing it for him a long time ago. I realized it is what I want to do, because I'm good at it, but what about you, Claire? You chose this not because it was popular, or would make you successful, but because you have passion for it. If anything, I would think your father would be proud of you for knowing your own mind, and making your own decision. It's not his life you should be living, but yours."

The shadow of her face turned away and he stepped nearer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I admire you, Claire. I respect who you are, and what enthusiasm you have for the law. I have never known anyone as hard working and determined as you are, and coming from me, that's a lot. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He saw the glimmer of her eyes as they lifted beneath the fringe of snow coating her eyelashes, and she witnessed the corresponding smile that touched his lips. "I love you, you do realize that?" he asked.

Claire nodded and rested her head against his for a moment, before they picked up their things and resumed their climb. She was tired but determined, and knew her way. Just when frustration was about to set in, they saw a glimmer of light through the trees. It danced down the path that became visible beneath the trees, and wound up over a split-rail fence to the magnificent country house where she had spent so few Christmases. Satisfaction entered her voice as she beheld it, realizing that she had found her way in the darkness. Christmas lights twinkled on all the windows and in the arches, the warmth of the interior beckoning to them.

Before she could move over the fence onto the stretch of lawn, Jack caught her arm. Claire turned into his kiss, warmth spreading through her with his silent reassurance that it would all be okay. Tossing her bag over the split rails, she clambered over it, most of her apprehension melting away. They were midway across the lawn when her mother spotted them from an upper window. Claire paused, gazing up at the reflection that turned into the house, no doubt making a beeline for the front door, and alerting all of her cousins that Claire had arrived. There would be introductions and singing, glasses of eggnog and last-minute tree trimming, but all that existed in that moment was the two of them; Claire, bathed in candlelight, and Jack with delicate snowflakes coming to rest in his hair.

"I think I have a new favorite Christmas memory," Jack remarked, and she looked at him, quizzically. The snow crunched underfoot as he approached, looking down into her eyes. "You," he said simply, and led her into the house.

END


End file.
